


For I Will Follow You Along Fosse Way

by runningscissors



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: camelotsolstice, Episode: s02e04 Lancelot and Guinevere, F/M, Fic Exchange, Minor Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Originally Posted Elsewhere, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningscissors/pseuds/runningscissors
Summary: "Her father once told her that a purpose hides beneath everything, even if you do not understand it. But she has never completely understood his words until now."
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin)
Kudos: 3





	For I Will Follow You Along Fosse Way

**Author's Note:**

> Written for camelotsoltice @ livejournal in 2010. Title is taken from the name of a Roman road that runs through a great part of Britain and is connected to one of the possible locations of the real Camelot.

The cheers are deafening; the chanting of death is that of a drum in her ear. Hengist laughs, his red, puffing face gleaming with satisfaction over their impending death. It sickens her. She shouldn’t have left without him. The blame lies entirely on her, and now the only person she has truly felt connected to is going to die for her. She fights backs her tears and presses her lips into a firm line. She will not give them the pleasure of seeing how terrified she is.

“I’m sorry. This is my fault,” she chokes out, head twisted to look at her saviour one last time.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he states with a firm voice. “You reminded me of who I am. I will die with faith in my heart. That is worth more than anything.”

Through the terror that clouds her mind, Lancelot entwines their tied hands, his palm hot and steady, and holds her fingers tightly between him. She imagines she can feel the beat of his heart seeping into her; it beats for her she knows, and in that moment, she thinks of it, giving her the courage and strength he holds within him.

She squeezes his hand as her eyes close and waits for death.

+

Death never comes. In its place is the clash of swords, the tug of her arm as Arthur pulls her down the dark tunnel leading away from the castle, and the feel of Lancelot’s hand on hers as he helps her from the ground and out into freedom.The woods are damp and cold, but her body’s on fire with tense glances that pass between the prince and her. His blue eyes are piercing as they meet hers from across the orange glow. They leave her feeling bare like he sees inside her and takes note of all the pieces of her heart that belong to someone else.

She turns her head, cloak pulled tightly to her, and wishes she didn’t feel this way.

“I am surprised you would undertake such a rescue mission with just the two of you,” Lancelot says as he works the fire.

Her eyes immediately fall to Arthur, a firm grip closed around her heart. **“** Father would not risk the lives of his knights for a servant.”

 **“** And yet you disobeyed him and came here anyway?” Lancelot asks, casts a quick tender look in Gwen’s direction.Would he speak the words he could barely get through to her? Would he tell them of the tenderness that had passed between himself and a servant in his palace?

She feels her body tense and prays her face does not give away the raging storm that lies beneath.

 **“** Truth is,” Arthur kicks at the ground with his boot, eyes cast to the leafy floor, “I _only_ came because Morgana begged me.”

She sucks in the breath she hadn’t known she had been holding, feels that firm grip on her heart squeeze till there is nothing left. Merlin looks at her with his wide, ever thoughtful eyes, and it makes her heartbreak more. She does not know what she had expected, and she’s frightened about what she might have wanted. 

**“** I think I’ll get some rest,” she finally says, pulling the soft fabric of her mistress’s cloak nearer to her. Arthur will not meet her eyes, but Lancelot does, and his lips slip into the beginnings of a grin.

+

As a child, the girls in the village all dreamed of a strong, honourable man in armour, a shield and a sword at his side. A Knight of Camelot, with his cloth of red and golden crest adorned across his chest. 

But it’s a dream and nothing more.

They’ll all marry tradesmen, a blacksmith, a cordwainer, a carpenter or farmer. They’ll set up homes with children and live the gruelling life those in Camelot have lived before them. 

She dreams of something much more extraordinary than that _._ She dreams of a love that encompasses her whole. A love that fills her heart with so much joy, it overflows and bathes her in warmth. A love that time itself will rest and marvel at. 

+

She wakes at the sound of crunching leaves. The forest is getting lighter, the sun rising up amongst the trees. She looks around the camp, notes Arthur asleep on the other side of the dying fire before noticing Merlin and Lancelot are gone. She scans the trees to see Lancelot and Merlin at a distance away. She watches them share a few words before Lancelot lays a hand on his shoulder and heads off into the trees. It doesn’t take long for her to realize what is happening before her, and when she does, her heart seizes in her chest. She quickly pushes herself to her feet, eyes wide with fright. Her legs are carrying her as fast as she can move them.

She won’t let him leave. Not again. Not after all they have been through.

His name rips from her throat, raw and panic-stricken, and when she finally reaches him, his face is one of sorrow. 

“Lancelot you have just returned to me. You cannot leave again.”

“I am truly sorry, Guinevere, but I cannot go with you to Camelot. I will not stand in the way of your happiness.”

“Please,” she chokes out, “please don’t go.”

He cups her cheek, the pad of his thumb rough against her skin as a finger fumbles with a curl at her temple. “You’ve changed me forever.” 

“Lancelot,” she says again, more determined this time. “You are my happiness.”

She swallows deeply, throwing a look over her shoulder at Merlin, who paces by the trees. She thinks of Arthur still asleep by the fire, thinks of his cold comment from early and his words about how their relationship could never be. She told him she would wait, that when he was king, things would be different. But she knows they will not. They both know this. She sees the potential shine through him; sees it grow stronger with each day in the devotion he shows to Camelot and all who live within its borders. He’ll make a fine king someday, of this she’s sure, but she knows she’ll never be a part of his future. He’s a bright shining star, and no matter how far she stretches, she’ll never be able to reach the night sky.

Nothing is keeping her in Camelot, no family, no prospects. Only inevitable heartache and an empty home.

And she has never met a man of Lancelot’s calibre. He is handsome (his dark eyes and shy grins) and brave and honest and the purest of hearts she’s met. He treats her with respect like she has never experienced before. He makes her feel for the first time in her life like she is more than just a servant girl. She’s a woman; a woman who’s worth is more than just the skill of her hands.

He astounds her not with the strength of his sword nor the swiftness of his foot as he fights, but with the determination of his soul and the honour he shows. Her father once told her that a purpose hides beneath everything, even if you do not understand it. But she has never completely understood his words until now.

“If you go, I will follow,” she states, taking his hand in her own. He goes to protest, his eyes furrowed, and a sad frown on his lips, but she covers the hand on her cheek with her own and smiles. “I will follow you anywhere.”

+

Morgana welcomes her with open arms and tears. It is difficult to say goodbye, for Morgana has always been a friend above all. But she takes Gwen’s hand in her own, squeezes tightly and tells her that whatever life she chooses, it will be filled with beauty. Merlin begs her not to leave, his lips pursed like he’s holding back something. He looks at her with sad eyes and pleads with her to hold on, tells her it is a mistake, and if she was just patient, things would all work out. But there are no certainties in life, and the chances of Arthur still loving her by the time he is King dies with every beautiful face that passes through the palace walls. 

Arthur won’t speak to her, just stares at her with such hurt in his eyes; she feels her resolution slipping with each second.

She packs her sewing tools, her water sack, enough food to last a few days, and warmer wear for when the frost hits. The things she doesn’t take, she sells and adds the coins received to the money accumulated from all her years of service to the royal court. 

+

They leave on a cold morning. Merlin comes out to say goodbye, a secure hug for Gwen, despite the loyalty he shows for his master. He ties his bright red scarf around her wrist and makes her promise to remember him.

She looks around one last time, maybe, just maybe...but Merlin shakes his head like he knows exactly what she’s thinking and pats her shoulder.

“He’s a fool for letting you go.”

She smiles sadly, hugs her dear friend once more, and makes herself believe he is right. Lancelot takes her hand, rucksack slung across his back, and together they make their way towards the gates. It frightens her to leave the only home she’s ever known, but she knows deep in the pit of her soul that she will find her way back to Camelot once more.

+

The first town is Givle. Lancelot works with the small Roman brigade stationed along the main road, and Gwen stitches tunics and gowns in the markets for locals and those who reside in the grand villas just outside the boundary. She’s a stranger to the sensation of a body sleeping beside her. She and her brother shared a cot in their youth, but it has been so many years since he left, and she became accustomed to sleeping on her own. He smiles at her shyly, stating that he would be more than happy to sleep on the floor, but she quickly pats the open space beside her, and he nervously climbs in.

Their room is cold and dark, but he gently wraps his arm around her, and she cannot stop the tears that silently slide down her cheek.

For the first time since she’s lost her father, she doesn’t feel alone. 

+

The next town they stay in is run by Saxons that speak in languages she’s never heard. They steal and plunder, take everything at times and leave the village bare. Food is often hard to come by, but Lancelot never once loses the smile on his face. He kisses her cheek and tells her every meal is delicious, no matter what she puts down in front of him.

She thumbs the red scarf still wrapped around her wrist and thinks of home. Sometimes when she’s all alone, she thinks of all the people she left behind, of what life would have been like if she had stayed. 

+

The first time she sleeps with him, really, truly sleeps with him, she feels the world all fall into place. He kisses her face softly and tells her that he loves her, and she truly believes it.

This is the kind of love she’s wanted. The kind of love where she can close her eyes and feel warmth behind her eyelids, to feel so connected to a person that when they leave, a piece of you goes with them.

And in that moment, in that perfect final moment, she feels like she is finally whole.

+

She braids flowers in her hair- small blue petals and dainty stems entwined in her dark curls. Forget-me-nots for love, an old woman, says as Gwen buys cabbage and yeast in the market. Girls giggle shyly and hurry off, discussions of husbands and babies on their lips.

She smiles.

+

Lancelot comes back one night with blood matted in his hair and dripping down his face and neck. Anton, the man they’re staying with, has Lancelot propped against his shoulder and his arm tight against Lancelot’s side.

Gwen quickly hands the baby she had cradled in her arms back to his mother and rushes to Lancelot’s side.

“What happened?” she asks in a panicked voice as Anton sets him down on a chair. There’s a deep gash along his hairline, and bits of glass linger in the matted blood.

“I am fine,” he moans, motioning his hand to shoo her away. She ignores this.

“Some bloke smashed a bottle of mead over his head,” Anton says, looking up at Julia, his wife, as she rocks their baby in her arms. “We were just on our way back when there was a scuffle outside the tavern, and Lancelot, the nobleman he is,” Anton says with the shake of his head, “went over to break it up. I tried to stop it, but he would not listen to me and... well, this is what happened.” 

His clothes are drenched in the smell of alcohol and dirt covers him. She tries to pull his tunic over his head, but he stops her.

“I am fine,” he repeats again, pushing himself up a little, “nothing that will not heal in a few days time.”

“Lancelot,” she soothes, brushing her fingers lightly across his cheek. “Let me fix your wounds, at least?”

He takes her hand, kisses it gently and nods, “Alright.”

+

It is only when he has fallen asleep does she finally sees the bruises covering his ribs. She traces one lightly with the pad of her thumb and blinks back tears. One of these days, his moral compass will lead him to danger he cannot escape. It is her worst nightmare brought before her eyes, and it frightens her like nothing else has.

Losing him now is not an option.

+

He builds her a crown made of tiny blue flowers. Forget-me-nots, she tells him as he places it upon her head with a sweet kiss to her forehead.

“You are a Queen of beauty, Guinevere,” he says, fingers twined around a curl.

She smiles, casts her eyes around the meadow and focuses on the warmth of the sun on her cheek. Her lids flutter shut for a moment before landing back on Lancelot lying in the grass beside her.

“I do not want to be a Queen,” she says, lying down next to him and curling into his side, “just simply to be loved.”


End file.
